Two of Us
by debubs
Summary: After a quarter of a century apart, can two people possibly renew what they once had? Mild mm slash.
1. An Annoyance

Author's Note: This is piece contains slash, as in a male/male relationship. If this sort of thing is not to your liking, you may gladly turn around and run the other way. Because I think people should try and be creative and not steal everything from Susan Kay, the Persian will not be appearing under the name 'Nadir.' Muah. And although this is stating the obvious, I don't own any of the characters…. But I do own the name of the Persian in this story. 

"You and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead ...."- "Two of Us," The Beatles.

Perhaps it was because the production of Meyerbeer's '_Dinorah'_ was particularly terrible tonight, and that he was the only person with the right taste to notice. Perhaps it was because he had stumbled over a pothole he had never noticed before on his way home. Maybe it was because his violin was severely out of tune, or it could have been that he had misplaced his rosin. Whatever the reason, every single thing that surrounded Erik was getting more and more on his nerves that evening. 

He had thought that perhaps sitting in his favorite chair with his cherished violin would calm him down ... that sinking into Chopin's Nocturne in C# Minor would be a quick, temporary way to lift him out of this constant state of aggravation he had been feeling for the past month. But while every note that the instrument released into the quiet air would have sounded flawless to anyone else's ear, to Erik it seemed as if he was creating a cacophony that would cause dearly departed Monsieur Chopin's ghost into an insulted frenzy.

Erik hated these dark moods ... at least, his moods that were more acrimonious than they normally were. They were terribly distracting, and would remain with him until he found some way to vent his annoyance. And he hated to think about who or what it would be taken out on. However, he was quite sure of who should be the target of his indignation this time around.

A certain Asad Bayoumi had taken to slithering in and out of Erik's opera house for the past four months. What angered Erik even more about this Monsieur Bayoumi was that he was getting dangerously close to his house beyond the lake. What's more, Erik couldn't figure out just how he managed to find him in the first place. However, what kept this Bayoumi fellow from meeting a magnificent death was the sense of camaraderie Erik felt when he thought of this man

Now, Erik wouldn't admit to feeling this sort of ... kinship, he supposed, with anyone publicly. He even doubted calling this tie he had to the little sneak 'kinship.' But while he nearly had a heart attack the first time he had seen Asad Bayoumi in the Opera Garnier, the event had stirred up a series of emotions that Erik thought he wasn't capable of feeling anymore. And it was these emotions that had stayed Erik's ruthless hand. 

However, if his dear old Daroga was to get any closer to his home, any feelings of flattery he might have felt beforehand were going to quickly melt into deadly annoyance. Erik didn't care if it had been more than twenty years since he had spoken to that only person he might have called a friend. One person catching on to his secret was enough to ruin everything he had worked for during the last two decades he had spent in Paris - he was much too old and perceptive to let some ancient companion of his bring him tumbling down.

It wasn't before long, though, that someone had tripped one of Erik's alarms. The man sighed, more than just slightly peeved. He only needed one guess to figure out just who was calling.


	2. A Reflection

Author's Note: I'd like to apologize beforehand for the lack of anything particularly slashy as of yet, but I promise that chapter three will get to it. 

Asad Bayoumi was in a state that could be described as a mixture between subtle delight and utter perturbation. The man was delighted because he felt clever – terribly clever for making this discovery on his own. No assistance from his apathetic Darius, nor any help from the doubtful Sûreté on this one. It was several months' hard work that had led him to this moment, and he was completely sure that he wasn't about to be disappointed. However, as he adjusted the flame in his lantern, M. Bayoumi could not easily ignore the more negative emotions stirring inside of him. His discovery was obviously leading him to danger, which was why Asad adjusted his lantern as swiftly as possible, returning his free hand to the level of his eyes. '_Best to be prepared for any kind of danger down here,'_ he had warned himself many times. When one was dealing with a character like Erik, it was wise to be expectant of the unexpected.

__

Erik. That lone name brought back memories for Asad that were a plethora of emotions. This was the man that had managed to get deeper under the Shah's skin than anyone else he had ever known. A man who was both a terror and a delight to the Persian court. A man who could manage to shock Asad and then make him laugh only seconds later … A man who could simultaneously create works of unparalleled beauty and instruments of unspeakable horror. 

__

'Beauty … horror. How appallingly well they blend together with Erik,' mused Asad.

Yes, there were some undoubtedly beautiful things about the Erik he remembered. This man was an artist in almost all respects. He was an unparalleled when it came to music, art, architecture, and magic … He was even a talented actor, noted Asad with a grim smile. The number of times the sly devil had managed to lie to the Shah and not only come out alive, but actually fool him, was nothing short of amazing. And apart from his dexterity in the arts, Erik surely had to be one of the most intelligent people Asad had the chance to meet. His quick wit, way with words, and knowledge regarding a boundless amount of subjects was enough to make even the most self-absorbed scholar shrink away in shame. However, it wasn't his intelligence or artistic side that Asad thought of most fondly, but of the untamable passion Erik had for what he believed in … for what he loved.

Tragically enough, though, it was these very loveable qualities about Erik that also made him the most terror-inducing being on the Earth. His words and music could take a sinister turn by using their peerless splendor to manipulate and control the weak-minded. His genius as a draftsman would turn out buildings and contraptions designed to drive men mad or give them the most morbidly unique deaths. And Erik's vast erudition certainly encompassed a taste for the unspeakably dark, being skilled with poisoning, weaponry, and explosives. Perhaps his unbridled passion was the most dangerous – '_Allah help anyone who easily manages to get on his bad side.'_

Asad shuddered at this reflection as he made his way deeper into the cellars. This direct contradiction of Erik's behavior matched his physical appearance perfectly. His face ... Well, what _was_ there to say about Erik's face? Even though he had not seen the man in more than twenty years, Asad was still able to picture it all in his weary mind. It was as if all of Erik's more monstrous tendencies had taken physical form, creating a countenance that only a decaying corpse could match. Sadly, Asad reminded himself that his face was not a punishment for his unspeakable crimes … that he had come into this world a very frightened, very ugly, and very cloistered boy. That was all he knew concerning Erik's miserable childhood. Nothing more, nothing less …

But, like his terrible qualities had admirable ones to counter them, Erik's face was dissented by his other physical aspects. He was unnaturally thin and tall, a body type that one could associate with a skeleton. This combined with his penchant for dark clothing gave Erik the appearance of being nothing more than a slender shadow shifting quickly through the palace corridors. When he walked, his movement seemed to embody beautiful music, his footsteps moving in time to harmonies so brilliant that normal men were not privileged to hear them. And his eyes, like Asad's, were of an unusual color. While Asad's were of a bright jade that was growing murkier with his slowly diminishing eyesight, Erik's were of a shade of brown so light that they seemed to be speckled with gold. 

However, the most intriguing physical features of Erik, at least to Asad, were his hands. Long and slender, capable of killing and creating in the most unique ways, there was a power in them that seemed to be unworldly. He had only seen them uncovered once or twice, for Erik normally clad them in leather gloves, despite the warm weather. While Erik was obviously highly self-conscious about his face, he was also the same way about those digits of his. He thought them to be frighteningly bony, and couldn't stand the sight of them, for their appearance and for the acts they had committed. It was sad and definitely odd, but gloves helped him forget. Asad, though he would admit that Erik's hands certainly were something that one needed to get use to, thought there was something very beautiful about them. Along with his eyes, they expressed what his masked face could not with matchless poetry.

And so, it was this description of his appearance and personality that had convinced Asad that Erik was capable of being the opera ghost he had so strongly suspected him to be. The clues and signs that pointed to him as the culprit had certain qualities about them that only Asad was knowledgeable enough to recognize. The efficiency of the ghost's mischief, the constant criticism given to the managers and company, the ghost's alleged wisdom of music, the wild descriptions overheard from the _corps de ballet_ … it all seemed to point in one direction. This made Asad feel flattered in a way– certainly most people would never meet anyone like Erik, let alone know him as well as he did. And now that he had seen specter disappear into the basements of the opera house countless times, he was positive he had found his long lost companion.

As he made his way into the fourth cellar, Asad began to ponder if Erik had kept to the last words he had given him when they parted more than a quarter of a century ago. Did he stop with the murders? He knew that Erik had taken to extortion in his new occupation, but that was one thing. Killing … well, that was another. Both were highly immoral, but Asad didn't think he could live with the idea that Erik hadn't tried to put an end to his most malevolent habit after all of this time. And it was because of this unease that Asad still walked with his hand at the level of his eyes – if Erik still kept to his most wicked ways, then he would surely meet an intruder with the Punjab lasso.

How much _did _the trap-door lover, still arrogant and impulsive in his youth, change to become this mysterious and calculated opera ghost? Twenty-six years was a long time, after all. He could have recaptured his sanity or could have finally fallen into the deep end of dementia. Given the circumstances, Asad was willing to bet that Erik was in the latter condition of mental health. It would take someone without nerves or sanity to pull off a stunt like this. 

After having unknowingly tripped the alarm that would ultimately lead Erik to him, Asad Bayoumi was to have his questions answered.


	3. An Encounter

Author's Note: It's a long chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. And, I repeat, if you don't cater towards slash, you'd be better off hitting the back button, as things start to heat up here.

Erik had been watching Asad wander around the fifth cellar for some time now, still torn between amusement and aggravation. He had made his way over to that spot as soon as his old friend had tripped the alarm in the fourth cellar, giving him enough time to hide. The poor man hadn't even noticed him standing there, concealed in the shadows just beyond the lamplight. _Funny_, Erik thought. _If there was ever anyone good at sensing my presence, it was him. _

The befuddled man at first eagerly explored the pits of the building, only to slowly grow more weary and confused with his quest. To Erik, his Daroga had seemed so sure of finding something (and he could guess what), only to be sorely disappointed. There was almost something endearing about the look of dissatisfaction that twisted his tired face. It had been so long that Erik had had the joy of besting Asad yet again … the returning nostalgia was very comforting. Perhaps he was still as sly as he was back in his heyday in Persia. _Perhaps_.

There was also something very strange running through Erik's head as Asad made his way around. Even though he had known that Asad was on his scent for the past four months, this was perhaps the closest Erik had stood near him in that time. This idea made him quiver with some unknown feeling. It wasn't nostalgia, certainly. Nostalgia made one feel slightly sad, and that was the last thing Erik felt right now. He was feeling rather excited at this prospect. As annoyed as he was, Asad was always the only one that Erik had ever felt he had made a true connection with. He was someone that he used to be able to talk to and joke with … Just when Erik had sworn that he was above the need for such things, he began to feel like a faithful dog does after its master returns from a long trip.

It was only when Asad began shining his lantern on the lake that Erik began to feel violent. The wharf where his boat had been tied was just out of sight of the lamp, and it made him uneasy. Asad made connections rather quickly in that clever brain of his. Before long, he would be practically knocking on Erik's door if he let him keep this up. He had his lasso with him, but surely he wasn't going to be so rash as to kill the man. No … for now, an unsubtle warning would have to do. 

Asad was slowly walking along the banks of the lake, contemplating if he should try his luck by jumping in the waters. However, he had no idea as to how deep it was, and the smell of the water certainly wasn't encouraging. He crouched down, his eyes scanning the murky liquid as if to find some sort of sign. He was so distracted by this mindless task that he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt two hands seize him by the shoulders. His foot accidentally kicked the lantern and sent it toppling into the lake. With unnatural power, his thin body was whirled around and slammed against a stone column. Asad didn't even have time to cry out in pain, for his eyes became fixed to what looked like two coals burning into him. 

"Hello, Daroga," he heard a voice purr in Arabic. That voice! It still could inspire fear and delight in him at the same time. Even if he hadn't seen his eyes, Asad would have been able to know that he was face-to-face with Erik just by the sound of him talking. "Might I ask what in the name of hell you are doing down here?" The voice was now tinged with barely controlled rage, and the hands on his shoulders pushed down slightly harder. But still, Asad managed a weak grin.

"Hello, Erik," he answered in French, as amicably as he could manage. "I was positive I would find you here, old friend."

This slightly friendly response was enough to make Erik step back and place his hands at his sides. As Asad's eyes struggled to adjust to the lack of lighting, he could see that Erik looked positively flummoxed by his unexpected response. There was a look in his blazing eyes that seemed to say _do you remember just who you are dealing with? _E_ither you've gone completely insane, or you're a lot slower than I remembered._ If there was one thing that could throw Erik off, it was hospitality. It was sad for Asad to think that it was such a foreign concept to Erik, but nevertheless, it worked.

For a long time, there was no talking. Just the two of them staring at each other, measuring up the change that had occurred in each of them over the time they had spent apart. Asad noticed that Erik's mouth, the only thing not covered by his black mask, was twitching uncomfortably, as if looking for something to say.

"Your French has improved," Erik finally muttered blankly in his native tongue.

It was now Asad's turn to feel confused. If there was one response he was expecting from this man, it certainly wasn't a comment on his progress in a foreign language. Still, it was better than what he was expecting…. A death threat and a thump on the head that would knock him out cold and leave his head throbbing for days.

"I can't say the same for your Arabic," answered Asad, grinning apologetically. To this, Erik said nothing. He still continued to stare, completely distracted by his Daroga's friendly nature. He turned his back, expecting to see the Persian chap make a run for it. He didn't. Asad stood there, adjusting his astrakhan cap and smiling gently. It was all too much for Erik, the notion that they could still chatter like old friends after the time they had spent apart…. After all they had been through together so long ago. He turned swiftly on his heels.

"What do you want?" Erik cried out suddenly, startling Asad. It wasn't so much the randomness of the outbreak, nor the volume of it, but the fright that was in those words that made his knees slightly shake.

"Nothing," he answered gently, trying to stand as tall as he possibly could. Erik shot him a look of complete disbelief. "Well … a few explanations, maybe." Asad heard Erik make a sound of complete irritation.

"You expect me to be candid with you when I scarcely know you anymore?"

"I haven't really changed, Erik. I'm just older and perhaps my sight's getting worse, but that's it," Asad replied quietly. He looked at Erik, who was now running one hand through his thinning, dark hair. The other one was firmly clutching his hat. He was quiet for a few moments, and then he let out a wistful sigh.

"No, you haven't changed, have you?" Erik said sadly. "You're still following me around like you're my second shadow." More silence. Erik seemed to regain control of himself, as his anger seemed to be returning. "Pray tell, Daroga, how did you manage to sniff me out?" The gentle tone of mock curiosity and suppressed rage made Asad feel that whether or not he divulged that information to Erik, he was still going to wind up in a dangerous position. He didn't answer at first, biting his lip until it was raw instead. Erik leaned in on him, his eyes looking into his own as if peeking into his very soul. "Tell me."

Asad swallowed and looked down at his feet. "Most of it was really intuition and inkling, really. I knew you would return to France. You always seemed to find the ways we worked back home inferior to yours. It made you homesick, I think." If he could have seen Erik's face, Asad was sure he would have been furrowing his eyebrows. "That was the first clue. It wasn't until after many years that that I acted upon that hunch and took the initiative to follow you."

Erik suddenly burst out into peels of bitter laughter. "Follow me? Good heavens, what would compel you to do something so incredibly stupid?"

Asad took a few moments to answer this question, ignoring Erik's berating. Certainly he cared about Erik and about putting his genius to good use. And he did enjoy his company, when he wasn't risking he and Asad's lives. But how does one say that without sounding as stupid as Erik was now pondering him to be?

"I wanted to make sure you kept to your promise," he finally answered. _So it's not the whole truth…. But it is a part of it._

Erik laughed again. "Dear Daroga, what a waste of time you've invested into this duck hunt of yours. I can assure that I haven't done any _reckless_ killing--" Asad shuddered, and Erik gave him a hostile look. "I've had my reasons. Do you doubt that?"

"Self-defense…?" Asad asked slowly.

"Yes, self-defense…" Erik replied with a sigh. There was something about his tone that Asad didn't buy. He didn't reply, and the air was silent again.

"An opera ghost. Really …" Asad murmured suddenly, sounding more disappointed than Erik had ever heard him to be.

"I have to make a living some way, Daroga," answered Erik quietly, putting his hat back on and slouching against the stone column next to Asad. He rarely ever slouched … there was something about that position that made him looked like an ashamed little boy. Erik cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and tried to change the subject. "So, continue with your clever tale on how you found me. Really, I love being made to look like an amateur from time to time."

Asad continued to look at his feet, ignoring Erik. "Opera ghost …I don't believe it. I've suspected that you were behind this all along, but now that I've had to face reality…. The idea is more painful than I thought." 

At this, Erik suddenly flew into a rage and pinned Asad back against the column. "What did you expect me to do? Sell out concert halls? God damn it, Asad, you know full well that trying to assimilate into society is beyond what I'm capable of! Are you that fucking idiotic?!" Asad held his breath upon hearing Erik swearing…. His choice in words was always that of a gentleman's. It was a sure sign that he was completely irate when he started to fly off the handle and swear like a sailor. He glanced over at the man, who was now clutching his sides, rambling darkly under his breath. Asad approached him slowly, feeling as if he was some sort of dolt intent on trying to calm a rabid animal.

"Erik…" He was accosted rather quickly by the ranting shadow, pinned down again for the third time tonight.

"Leave, Daroga," he hissed. "If I find you down here again, I can't promise that you'll come out alive."

"You're bluffing." 

Erik blinked at Asad's audacity to challenge him. "Are you out of your bloody mind?"

"You wouldn't hurt me…." Asad's throat seemed to be going dry, and his heart felt about ready to explode.

"Oh, really, Daroga," asked Erik, the sarcasm in his voice positively dripping. "And what makes you think that I won't murder your sorry self here on the spot? _Love_?" That last word was said with such acidity that it could had dissolved bricks.

If Asad weren't so frightened, he would have laughed out loud. This whole time he had been letting Erik get away with insulting him. He had a snide response waiting right on the tip of his tongue, and he wasn't going to stand for being belittled anymore. 

"No. You're incapable of love." Asad immediately regretted his words. Maybe he was as stupid as Erik said he was to say something so cruel to a person driven mad with anger. Erik's eyes were flashing dangerously, his shoulders rising as he breathed deeply. Asad tried to quickly recover. "You won't kill me because you feel indebted to me. And if there is one thing I know you won't do is kill someone to get out of a bargain. That's a cheat's way out."

Erik seemed to have ignored Asad when he started to speak again. "Incapable of love …"

"In all honesty," Asad fumbled, "I … I didn't mean to say that."

"Incapable of love, Daroga?" His voice was growing even more and more enraged.

"What I meant was-"

Erik cut him off. "You find me so much of a monster?"

"No – It was an accident. I didn't mean it." Asad's voice was becoming high pitched and his words were coming out jarringly quickly. His eyes were locked onto Erik's, which were a hurricane of anger, sadness, and … something unnamable. He was sure that Erik was going to kill him right on the spot.

But Erik didn't.

Instead, he kissed him.


End file.
